


Edge of 17

by Burning_Up_A_Sun



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, High School Hockey, Homophobic Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:45:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22297483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun
Summary: (Please note: this fic has stalled due to Covid. You may prefer to bookmark it to see if I get my mojo back)Sidney is the C of the high school team in Sewickley, PA. Coach Gonch is hosting a Russian boy who is new to the town, the school, and the team. It's up to Sid to make him feel at home and maybe to be friends.
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 43
Kudos: 72





	1. New Kid In Town

**Author's Note:**

> TW: There is high school typical homophobia and use of the three letter F word. 
> 
> Also, I suspect this will be maybe 8 chapters. I'm posting to nudge myself to keep going because it has been slow moving. You may prefer to book mark this if you don't like WIP.

“Crosby! Now!”

Sid peeled off out of the drill and skated to the bench. He pulled off his helmet and shook his head, hair gross, sweat soaked and sticking to his forehead. 

“New kid, just transferred here.” Coach Sullivan jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the tall boy standing further down the boards, fiddling with his phone. “Introduce him around, help him make friends.”

_Yes! With another good D-man or maybe a third line center they could easily take first in the division—_

Sid turned to where Coach pointed, and his hopes fizzled. The kid was only skinny arms and spindly legs. One good blast of wind, and he’d be flat on his face. He looked like he didn’t have any muscles, hadn’t done any weight training. How could he be any good?? His only saving grace were his wide hands with thin fingers, more like a wide receiver or a shooting guard. 

But Coach told him to welcome the new kid, so Sid shrugged and made his way over the floor, his footing as sure on two blades as if he’d been in bare feet. “Hey. I’m Sid. Glad you’re here—” He skipped his typical captain speech, instead starting with, “Don’t worry that it’s already December. All the important tournaments are—” 

The kid looked at Sid, then back down at his phone. When Sid stopped talking, the kid shrugged and walked off, out the rink to the building’s lobby.

_What a dick,_ Sid thought, but it was too late to bitch him out now. He had a half hour to shed his sweaty uniform, shower, and wrestle with the traffic and parking at school. If he were late again for first period, Mr. Lemieux would skin him alive. Or worse—force a Saturday detention, which meant no practice which meant no game. Lemieux didn’t give a shit if it messed with a game or not.

Sid cringed at the thought of missing a game. Anyway he’d worry about the new kid later. Right now, he had to get to school. 

~*~

Sid’s hall locker door slammed shut, almost nabbing his fingers.

“What did Sully want?” Flower asked, grabbing Sid’s PowerBar breakfast from his hand and shoving half of it in his mouth. “Ut abo ‘ew ‘id.”

“Yeah. What about the new kid?” Tanger echoed.

With a huff, Sid grabbed his bar back as Flower was trying to pass it to Tanger. “I dunno anything except he’s my responsibility.” Sid hastily spun through his locker combination again and plucked his English notebook out of the locker before Tanger and Flower could shut it again. “I gotta go. Mr. Lemieux will kill me if I’m late one more time. See you at lunch.” With a wave behind him, Sid jogged off down the hall.

“Glad to see you’re on time, Captain,” Mr. Lemieux said, as Sid slid into his chair just after the bell’s clanging finally stopped. “In honor of this occasion, you can start us off. In his lifetime, Walt Whitman was considered shocking and inappropriate. Discuss.”

Sid opened his AP lit book to “Song of Myself,” but he didn’t really need to. He knew this poem inside and out.

“Whitman’s contemporaries thought he was super low class, like, almost a street poet. He didn’t write about rich people like other poets did. He wrote about people he saw every day. Kids having fun, guys working—” 

The back of the room snickered, and someone coughed out _fag._

The words crawled up Sid’s spine, leaving a trail of cold fear in its wake. He hated that fucking douche Wilson, who thought he could casually drop that word, not caring if Mr. Lemieux could hear him. He didn’t know if it had been directed at him or the poet, but it didn’t matter. 

Sid knew what they said behind his back. That he spent too much time with his team. That he didn’t have a new girl hanging off him every other day. That he was gay. A Queer. A fucking fa—

Sid didn’t look, just tensed his shoulders in his tight shirt, and ground out, “Shut the fuck up, Wilson.” 

Mr. Lemieux rolled his eyes. “Mr. Wilson. What _he_ said. And don’t do it again. Mr. Crosby, concrete examples, please.”

Sid pulled the textbook closer, scanning the excerpts he’d underlined last night and praying his face didn’t betray his anger. 

“Uh, in section 15, he lists workers like the carpenter, the duck-shooter, the deacon. What they do and how they do it. They’re not the rich people, but guys who do filthy work. But, like, the more controversial stuff is the way he talks about men, their bodies and, like, the way the sweat glistens on their chest .And because it was well known he was gay I think that also made people discount his work —” 

Sid’s voice trailed off. He wished Lemieux had chosen someone else, anyone else. He could feel the burn of everyone’s eyes on his back, the nerd

“Why you always make it about gay shit?” Wilson scoffed, the aggressive edge in his voice setting Sid’s nerves on fire. 

“Because, Mr. Wilson, sometimes things are literally gay,” Mr. Lemieux stepped in. “Good. Who else?”

Sid lost himself in the ebb and flow of the discussion around him—the teacher’s enthusiasm and his classmates’ stumbling responses.

_No one knows. No one knows._ Sid reminded himself. No one knew he was gay.

Always eyes down in the locker room. His phone history cleared every day. Tom Wilson was just a clown from the back of the classroom.

_”Maybe they know,”_ whispered a tiny voice in his head.

He’d just spend more time with Flower and Tanger‘s girlfriends. They were easy to talk to and popular. And if they posted pictures on their Instagram or Snapchat, then he’d look straight-er. Right? 

Because it was his choice what to tell and when to tell it. And no one had the right to force him.


	2. You Do The Math

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Kid is sitting with the theater kids, which is weird enough, but it turns out, he's super good at math. And if he has to sit close to Sid to show him how to do the homework, then, well, ok, yeah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what y'all think. ♥

The 12 team members who had second lunch crammed into the table made for 8. Sid nudged Flower to make more space at the lunchroom table. “Aw, come on. You know I can’t fit in there.”

“With that ass, you’d need at least half the bench for yourself,” Flower whooped, returning high fives around the table. 

Sid glared, debated whether to push Flower off the bench and decided he couldn’t afford another Saturday detention. 

“There’s the new kid.” Flower pointed with his slice of pizza. Then he casually sniffed the crust before taking a bite. “He’s by himself.”

Sid stared openly across the cafeteria. The kid was staring at his spork and then poking at the beef-a-roni on his tray. “Whatever,” Sid said without a speck of remorse. Like, maybe if the kid were friendlier, he’d have someone to sit with.

“Not very Canadian of you,” Flower said, stealing one of Sid’s fries.

“I’m American,” he said for the millionth time. “I was born here—”

“—to Canadian parents!” Sid’s teammates shouted over him.

“Should we ask him to come sit with us?” Flower asked, turning away and to sniff the fry before taking a bite.

“You did it again!” Tanger yelled, pointing to Flower. “You smelled your food.”

“I did not!”

Horny laughed and shoved more pizza in his mouth. “Why d’ya do that? It’s weird!”

“You’re weird,” Flower sputtered, dropping his pizza crust onto his plate.

“Your mom is weird!”

Sid ignored the argument that he’d heard hundreds of times before. Instead he finished his PB&J and watched New Kid’s table fill up with theater kids. They told stories with big gestures and loud voices and then broke into a song Sid didn’t recognize. They tried to drag New Kid into their chorus kick line that was taking up too much room in the crowded cafeteria. New Kid shook his head but smiled at them before looking back down at his phone. 

It was about the nicest smile Sid had ever seen—wide and genuine, the kind that reaches your eyes and makes them crinkle. The kind Sid wished that someone someday might like him enough to shine on him. 

_Maybe he’s not really a jerk,_ Sid thought, unwilling to admit that New Kid was interesting, maybe a little interesting when he grinned. 

At that moment, New Kid glanced over at the hockey team’s table and caught Sid staring. Sid was embarrassed, felt his face flush as he quickly looked away, but he was almost sure the kid smiled at him.

“Want to do something after school?” Tanger asked, elbowing Sid. “We could play Fortnite or go skating or—” 

“Can’t.” Sid cleaned up his place, wiping the crumbs in his hands and dusting them onto the baggie. “I have an AP lit paper due by midnight.” 

Sid hefted his backpack from under the table, and as he left, his friends shouted rude comments about his ass. He laughed, shaking his head at their stupidity, and as Sid passed New Kid’s table, he waved.

New Kid smiled, crinkles and all, and Sid felt for a second that his backpack was a little lighter.

~*~

Math sucked. Algebra 2 sucked worse. And Algebra 2 at the end of the day was some giant pile of flaming shit. 

Sid wanted to bang his head against the desk, either in frustration or to see if _that_would help with the answers. He’d asked the teacher for help, but he said Sid should pay more attention. Tutoring didn’t help because those National Honor Society kids were like “do this, do this, then this, there’s your answer.” 

Sure. Sure. Yeah. Got it. Two thumbs up. 10/10 would use again.

The New Kid was in his math class; of course, the only available seat was next to Sid. He’d smiled tentatively at Sid as he sat, and then proceeded to ignore him. 

Whatever. 

Sid dropped his forehead to the book. He had 3 more problems to get through in—he turned his head to look at the clock with his face stuck to the book—ten minutes. Everyone else was done, backpacks loaded and ignoring the teacher’s _shhhhhs!_ They were ready to hit the hallway, not worried that if they didn’t get a B then they couldn’t play hockey. 

“Who thought putting letters with numbers was a good idea?” he grumbled and picked his head up to try again. 

New Kid poked Sid in the arm. 

Sid ignored him. 

New Kid poked him again. 

“Bro, what the fuck?” Sid whispered. He did _not_ have time for this.

New Kid patted his chest. “Evgeni.”

“Oh.” It took Sid a moment to process that was his name. “Oh! I’m Sid.”

Evgeni smiled at him and hopped his chair-desk closer to Sid. He angled Sid’s notebook toward him and began solving the problem. He worked slowly enough that Sid could follow each step. It was easy with the slow, methodical way he moved through the process; the teacher always raced through the steps while talking about homework and threatening the kid in the back of the classroom, all while twitching her fingers in a repetitive motor tic.

When he finished, he looked up at Sid and raised his eyebrows, as if he were asking if Sid got it.

Sid had followed each step. It wasn’t the way the teacher had shown him, and that was good, because _this_ Sid understood. 

“Wow.”

“Next.” Evgeni smiled, and moved on to the next question. 

Sid forced himself to focus on the paper. Later he could wonder about Evgeni’s accent and where he’d moved from and how he knew Coach Gonch, and if that were why he’d moved to Sewickley. 

For the last one, he turned the notebook back toward Sid before scraping his desk back to his row. He plodded through, ignoring the dismissal bell and his classmates who streamed out of the room. 

“Done!” Sid tore the page out of his notebook and slid it onto the top of the teacher’s _To Be Graded_ pile. He ignored her “Go you!” and grabbed his backpack, hoping to catch Evgeni in the hallway. 

But in the sea of kids pushing out for the weekend, Evgeni was no where to be found.


	3. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's coming for dinner?

Every Friday after school, Sid helped teach recreation hockey to kids 4-6 years old. His job consisted mainly of righting kids who’d fallen flat on the ice and kissing the boo boos on their hands and knees. 

He did not kiss their butts when that was where they landed. 

He loved it. The kids were cute and excited. They’d pull at him, pluck his jacket and call him _Coach Sid, Coach Sid!!_

He loved everything about coaching except that dinner had to be later on coaching nights. 

By the time Sidney got home from coaching, lunch was a faint memory, and the power bar he’d scarfed down at 3:00 had done nothing at all. He was exhausted and hangry, mostly at himself because he’d left his Lit paper til the last minute. If he threw back dinner, he’d have maybe five hours to knock it out before the 11:59 deadline. 

He shut the front door quickly, closing winter out and allowing the heat to soak in and warm his bones. Whatever Mom was cooking smelled awesome, and his stomach rumbled in agreement. 

“Home! What’s for dinner?” Sid called out, stripping out of his toque, scarf, and heavy winter coat. 

“Sidney don’t yell,” Mom yelled across the house. Sid skidded to a stop at the kitchen.

Evgeni was at the kitchen table with Taylor, eating homemade chocolate chip cookies and casually talking with Sid’s mom. 

_What the fuck?_

“Sid!” Evgeni said in his mouth cookies. He looked genuinely glad to see Sid. 

“What’s he doing here?” Sid asked and he knew he sounded like an asshole, but the last thing he needed was a playdate. He needed to eat, like _now,_ and he needed to write his paper. 

Evgeni’s smile faded, and Sid offered a halfhearted, huffed out “Sorry.”

“The Gonchars have to be at Natalie’s school tonight and didn’t want to leave Evgeni home on his first night here. I said he could sleep here tonight.” 

“Where’s he gonna sleep? You can’t put Taylor out of her room. That’s not fair,” Sid argued. 

Mom raised an eyebrow and remained silent. 

“Wait. You can’t—he can’t—_my_ bed?!” Sid groaned. “We have early skate tomorrow. Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“Sidney. It’s a Queen size bed. There’s plenty of room for both of you. Or there’s the floor. Or the couch.” She smiled at Evgeni and pulled Sid closer to her in a hug. “Why are you being such a jerk? Something happen at school?” She spoke through her teeth at his ear, and Sid knew that tone.

He swallowed his guilt and remember how much Evgeni helped in math. “No. I guess I’m just hungry.”

Trina turned Sid toward the table. “I’m certain Evgeni will share Mrs. Gonchar’s cookies with you.” The oven timer dinged, and Trina checked on the lasagna. “We have about 10 minutes til we eat, boys.”

Sid reached for a cookie, and Evgeni pulled the plate closer to himself and covered it with his massive hands. Taylor giggled, and Evgeni smiled broadly at her. 

“What the fuc—” Sid’s anger rose, but he saw a smile at the corner of Evgeni’s lips and realized Evgeni was teasing him. 

“Sidney!” his mom said, again, this time with the wooden spoon raised. 

Evgeni laughed and pushed the cookies toward Sid. He took one, then quickly stole a second before running upstairs to change into sweats. 

“Dinner in five!” Mom yelled, which Sid knew was also a reminder for him to set the table.

~*~

Dinner was Sid’s mom’s special lasagna with three types of cheese. The aroma was tantalizing (vocabulary word of the week), and Sid wanted to face plant into his plate. 

Evgeni picked up his fork and hesitated, looking at the pasta like he’s never seen lasagna before. 

“It’s pasta and cheese.” Sid pointed at the noodles with his fork. “With spaghetti sauce. You know, spaghetti?” and he mimed twirling his fork.

Evgeni still looked unconvinced, but when he saw Sid dive in, he cut off a corner with his fork and tasted it. “Good! Is like варе́ники.”

“What?” Sid asked, confused by the Russian word, the sound of it so different from his suburban English.

“Pierogi?” Evgeni tried again after another bite.

“Pierogis?” Mom asked. “I make that! Does your mother make them?”

She and Evgeni worked around the language barrier to talk to each other about pierogi fillings. “Tomorrow night, we’ll have Pierogis then! And you’ll come for dinner.”

Evgeni’s smiled and repeated pierogi. Then he slowly pronounced _variniki_ and motioned for Mom to try. She repeated it, and Evgeni smiled, even though to Sid, her word didn’t sound anything like Evgeni’s. 

Evgeni pointed to Sid, that it was his turn to try, but Sid wasn’t about to sound stupid trying to stop pronounce a Russian word, so he raised his eyebrow and continued eating. Taylor repeated it over and over happy to speak Russian. 

It was hard to tell who finished their dinner faster; both Sidney and Evgeni reached for the spatula for seconds at the same time, and then inhaled that. Once they were both finished, Sid rinsed their plates and put them in the dishwasher.

“Gotta go,” Sid said and headed out of the kitchen. “C’mon!” he added, unwilling to pronounced Evgeni’s name.

“What about dessert?” Mom called.

“No dessert. Not in the food plan. Besides I have a paper to write.” Sid took off up the stairs knowing that his mom would sneak dessert upstairs anyway.


	4. Netflix and Chill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was only one bed, and the floor is very hard, and there *is* early skate tomorrow...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg, there was only ONE. BED.

Sid was setting up his desk when Evgeni came upstairs looking guilty holding a plate of chocolate chip cookies

He handed it to Sid and said, “Mama.”

Sid eyed Evgeni up and down ignoring that he looked—confusing in his tight jeans. They were perfectly fine jeans, that wasn’t confusing. But Sid’s heart beat a little flippy, like right before a big test or an important game. “Can you speak English?

Evgeni held his fingers very closely together as if to say _a little bit._ “Can know, but bad speak.”

Sid thought about that and then nodded. “Like, you understand what people are saying, but you think you don’t speak good?” Evgeni nodded, and Sid felt bad that he would think that. “I think you talk fine.” 

Sid removed the passcode from his iPad, queued up Netflix, and handed Evgeni the iPad. “I don’t know if you have homework, but I have a paper due at midnight. You can sit on the bed—” Sid pointed with his thumb “—and do whatever. I have to work.”

Evgeni grinned and hopped onto Sid’s bed, made himself comfortable lying on his stomach with his chin propped on his hands. He kicked off his shoes and the opening notes of _Friends’_ theme song made Sid smile. 

“I love that show!” Sid said, definitely not realizing how good, seriously good, Evgeni looked lying on his bed. 

Evgeni patted the space next to him on the mattress. “Watch?”

“I can’t.” _Fuck this paper. Why’d he wait so long to start it?!_ “I have to do this paper.”

Evgeni’s smile seemed strained. “Plenty of _Friends._ Can watch when you finish.” It sounded like a command, not a question, and Sid didn’t mind at all. 

It was 8:00. He had four hours to write this paper. “Let’s do this!” Sid said out loud. Evgeni didn’t hear him; he was ignoring his stuffed backpack and Sid in favor of Ross and Rachel. 

Sid grabbed his English textbook, the notes he’d taken from the school’s resources, and pulled up the file of online research. For the next three hours, Sid was lost in Massachusetts and the lives of Thoreau and Emerson. 

Occasionally, Evgeni’s laughter pulled him out, brought him back to his room and the confusion he felt with Evgeni lying on his bed. He did his best to ignore his feelings—because of his looming deadline, for sure.

With 30 minutes to spare, Sid finished proofreading his paper and hit _send_ with a whoop! “You still watching _Friends?”_Sid asked, sitting on the bed against the headboard, careful to keep the bro-space between them. 

Evgeni sat up and scooted closer to Sid until the bro-space was gone, and their sides were pressed together. He was warm and smelled like chocolate chip cookies and a little bit like that morning’s cologne. Sid wanted to tuck his face into the crook of Evgeni’s neck and catalogue the scents, see if they changed day by day or remained the same. 

_This is fucking stupid,_ Sid thought, trying to shake himself out of this sudden crush, but Evgeni was hot and nice and hot and on his bed. And Sid felt so alone and lonely. Everyone around him was pairing off—Flower and Vero. Tanger and Cat. Even Jake was hanging out with Nicole. Sid heard their stories in the locker room; even if he were sure 99% of them were just flat out made up, he wanted to feel someone else’s hands on his skin, someone else’s lips on his.

But he’d also heard the locker room chatter, the casual _faggot_ and _cocksucker_ bombs dropped without thought. The snickers as one of the openly gay students walked past them in the hall. Sid shut it down each time, told them, “We’re better than that,” but if that’s what they thought, how could he tell them he was gay?

Another episode of _Friends_ cycled on, and Evgeni dozed and jerked awake several times. Each time, he leaned a little more toward Sid until he was fully asleep, his head resting on Sid’s shoulder. 

Sid allowed himself the rest of the episode to enjoy the intimacy, and when it was over, he whispered, “Hey. Time to wake up.”

Evgeni wasn’t just dozing. He was hard asleep and difficult to wake up. 

“Hey. Wake up! It’s time for bed.” Sid edged his shoulder out from under Evgeni’s head and gently poked Evgeni’s side. 

Evgeni mumbled something in Russian as he tried to crack open his eyes. Then he said, “Make no sense. Was already asleep.”

“You can’t sleep on me all night,” Sid answered as lightly as he could, because every atom in him wanted to shout _Yes, you can!_

Sid grabbed one of the bed pillows and the comforter off the bed and tossed them onto the floor. He folded it into a makeshift sleeping bag. “Do you need any sweat pants or a t shirt or—”

When he turned around to finish the question, Evgeni was shirtless and stepping out of his jeans. Sid swallowed hard. That was—a lot. Pale skin, defined abs. Sparse, dark hair on his chest. 

“Am good. Sleep like this,” Evgeni said, pointing down his body. “Why you sleep down there? Big bed?”

_Cuz I don’t want to wake up with a huge hard on for you,_ he couldn’t say. “Uh, I, uh, take up a lot of room when I sleep. I don’t want to kick you or anything.”

“Big bed,” Evgeni repeated. When Sid didn’t respond, Evgeni stalked to the other side of the bed and yanked the blanket and pillow from the floor and put them back on the bed. “Sleep.”

Sid gave up, nodded, and stepped into the bathroom to brush his teeth and pee. When he came out, Evgeni was already asleep on the left side of the bed. Sid exchanged his jeans for sweats and slid between the sheets. 

This was nicer than the floor. He’d just lie here all night on the edge of the bed with plenty of space between them and couldn’t do anything stupid. 

“Good night—Evgeni.” He butchered the pronunciation; he knew he had. 

But Evgeni reached out and laid his wide hand on Sid’s shoulder and mumbled, “Sidney best.”

The warmth and weight of Evgeni’s hand calmed Sid’s nerves about sharing the bed. Sid listened to Evgeni’s breathing even back out into sleep; that plus the morning skate and afternoon coaching were more than he could resist. 

Within minutes, his resolve to stay awake all night had evaporated. Whatever happened, he’d deal with it in the morning.


	5. Best At Being Stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sid introduces Evgeni to the rest of the team, and now Evgeni gets a nickname.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. BEWARE AND BE WARNED. 
> 
> also, you're welcome.

_Evgeni’s finger traced Sid’s abs, followed the trail of coarse hair from his belly button to the brief’s elastic. Sid breathed a_ **Yes. Please.** _And as Evgeni dipped below the elastic waistband--_

Sid woke up, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. Jesus Christ, he was half of a finger away from humping the bed and there would have been no coming back from that mortification. That was the fucking hottest dream he’d ever had, kissing Evgeni’s plush lips, touching his pale skin, being skin to skin, and then he’d—

_Shit. No._

Sid sat up quickly with his back to Evgeni so he couldn’t see Sid’s raging wood because that would be—

Since it was close enough to the alarm, Sid grabbed his phone and hurried to the bathroom. He ran the shower and tried not to think about his dream, but it was no use. He carefully shucked his sweatpants and underwear and stepped into the shower, barely yanking the curtain closed before he had his cock in his hand. Soap, some soap. Just the right amount so there was slick and friction. He replayed the dream and expanded it, Evgeni’s lips on his neck, kissing down, stopping to play with his nipples. Slide his tongue over one, return with a flick before sucking on it. Teeth? Just a little, maybe. 

With his free hand, Sid scraped his fingernail over his hard nipples, and yeah, that was—yeah. Good. _Really_ good. He thrust into his fist, harder, faster, as he imagined Evgeni sinking to his knees, the water running over his face as he took Sid into his mouth as far as he could, allowed Sid to fuck his face, and Sid had never done anything like this before, but it was amazing, perfect, wet and so hot. A sound escaped, a moan cut off, a shuddered sigh. 

With each thrust, Sid felt his orgasm spiraling through his body, ready to spin out, a thousand winter shocks, each a tiny firework. Evgeni would carefully roll Sid’s balls in his hand before reaching further back and dragging his finger over Sid’s hole and—

It’s too much; he can’t hold off any longer, and he breaks, pulsing over his fist and onto the wall, gasping as quietly as he can, if he could even be quiet after the best orgasm he’s ever had. 

Sid collapsed against the shower wall, ragged breathing and using willpower to stay upright. Thank God he’d been quiet, because if Evgeni had heard that—total humiliation. 

When he’d built up enough energy, Sid slung the shower curtain open and stepped out. 

Evgeni burst into the bathroom, fumbling to take his dick out of his underwear.

“What the fuck?!” Sid asked, standing naked and dripping on the small rug.

Evgeni mumbled something in Russian as he flipped open the toilet lid and peed. 

“Seriously, what the fuck? You can’t just come in—” Sid scrambled to cover up, clawing at a towel from the linen shelves. 

“Pee.”

He was being stupid. Guys saw each other naked all the time in locker rooms. But this was intimate—or yeah. Maybe he was just being stupid. 

Sid wrapped the towel around his waist, but he was still half hard, and his dick pushed at the terry cloth. He pressed at it, willing it to go down. 

Evgeni flicked and flushed, then washed his hands. When he turned around, Sid felt like he was still naked under Evgeni’s gaze. Like he could see everything, and not just Sid’s body. He could barely breathe under the weight of it. 

“Why shower when we practice in little bit?” Evgeni asked, his voice still sleep rough and his accent thicker than it had been the day before. 

Which was not helping his erection. At all. 

“Just—needed a shower. Long day yesterday,” Sid shrugged and grabbed at the towel that was coming loose. “We should probably get going because, y’know, breakfast and stuff.”

Evgeni nodded like that made sense and left the bathroom, dropping his boxer briefs along the way. Sid struggled to breathe, faced with Evgeni’s ass, which was gorgeous. Thick and muscled, definitely a hockey ass. 

Sid stumbled into the end of the bed and almost fell on top of it. Evgeni turned around to see what happened, and Sid smiled awkwardly, pretending to reach for yesterday’s t shirt that had gone flying out of his hand. “I think Mom’s calling. Yeah. Hurry up.”

Sid stepped into his briefs as quickly as he could, then threw on last night’s sweats and a clean t shirt. “Do you want a t shirt or sweats or something?”

Without waiting for an answer, Sid tossed a t shirt and a pair of sweatpants at him. “They’re gonna be too short. Don’t make jokes.”

“Is ok, Sid. You like candy bar. Fun size.”

Sid flipped him off but Evgeni’s tongue poking out from between his lips as he tried not to laugh was too much. “Asshole,” Sid laughed as he left the room.

~*~ 

“Guys. This is Evgeni. He’s new here. Don’t treat him like one of us. Actually be _nice_ to him, please,” Sid said when the team was gathered at center ice. 

“Ev-what?” Flower asked, feigning confusion. 

“Evgeni,” Sid repeated slowly. “He’s Russian. He’s living with Coach Gonch.”

Evgeni stood smiling broadly, nodding. 

“He needs a nickname. No way I can pronounce that,” Tanger said. 

“You can’t pronounce your own name half the time.” Horny elbowed him in the gut, and Tanger nodded as if to say, _That’s true._

Evgeni stood smiling broadly, nodding. 

“Does he speak English? Can he even understand what we say? Like, if we nicknamed him Asshole, would he even know?” John Marino asked with a glint in his eye.

Evgeni stared him down, his face dark with anger. “Try me.”

Marino held up his palms in apology. “Sorry, my dude.”

“Is okay, but don’t do again.” And in the space of a moment, Evgeni’s face was sunny and smiling again. 

“Geno. That’s a good nickname,” Flower decreed, and everyone agreed.

The coaches skated onto the ice. “Malkin! Show us what you got. Dumolin and Letang. Defend him. Flower, don’t let him score.”

Easier said than done. Geno slipped past Dumo, spun around Tanger, and went top shelf on Flower without him even moving.

“It’s okay baby,” Flower said, patting his goal cage. “The bad man didn’t mean it.”

Geno laughed a huge doubled over belly laugh, and Sid patted him on the back. “Great job!”

“Crosby!” Coach Sullivan hollered. “Center Malkin and Hornqvist. Let’s see how it looks.”

It was a thing of beauty.

Sid’s blind pass hit the tape of Geno’s blade as if he’d known it were going to be there, expected it to be there. Geno took another shot that banked off Flower’s pad and popped into the goal. 

Again and again puck on tape, whether it was Sid to Geno or Geno to Sid.

“Jesus,” Sid heard Coach Sullivan say. “They’re like a goddamn two headed monster. We might just win it this year.”

~*~

After skate, the guys stripped out of their smelly uniforms and sweaty UnderArmour. They chirped Geno like he’d been part of the team for years, called him and Sid the “Two Headed Monster.” 

“What are you guys doing later?” Flower asked, struggling with the buckles on his leg pads.

“Go with Sid,” Geno shrugged. “Sid best.”

“Sid best. Isn’t that cute?” Flower said to no one in particular, but Sid caught his meaning.  
He glared at Flower who only grinned. “Are you living with Sid?”

“Flower!” Sid hissed, “Shut up!”

“Live with Coach, stay with Sid.” Geno, who was shirtless wearing only his compression shorts, wrapped his arm around Sid and pulled him in. “Sid best.”

“If my parents go out, we’re having a party at my house tonight.” Tanger barged in and broke up the conversation. “Check the group text.”

The locker room emptied out with the boys heading home or out to lunch. Geno went to find Coach Gonch. Flower, who had taken as long as he possibly could getting out of his pads, was alone with Sid. 

Sid packed his bag up with his back to Flower. Maybe, if he couldn’t see Flower, he wouldn’t say anything. Or would go away. Or a hole would open in the floor, and Sid wouldn’t have to have this conversation. 

“So—”

_Okay, so none of those things…_

“Geno’s staying with you, huh?”

Sid decided it was best to just do this. He zipped his bag, dropped it on the bench, and turned to face Flower. “Yes, he did last night.”

“Did he stay in Taylor’s room? Or did you?”

Sid’s silence was answer enough. 

Flower shook his head in disbelief. “Sid! Tell me you at least slept on the floor.”

“I—he—he made me share the bed. I mean, it’s big enough for fuck’s sake. It’s not like anything happened.” Nothing _had_ happened. And his dream was probably a one off anyway. Right?

“Sid. He’s, like, your dream guy.”

_Please don’t say dream guy._

“He’s tall, built, brown eyes, nice smile. And he’s got a fucking huge dick. It’s actually frightening.”

Sid collapsed on the bench and hid his face in his hands. All he could do was nod his head.

“He can’t stay with you.” Flower rubbed Sid’s back as if it would take some of the future pain away. “This isn’t gonna end well, mon chum.”

“Back! What I miss?” Geno asked, his brow furrowed as he watched Flower and Sid. “Sid, you okay?”  
Sid smiled wanly as he looked up at Geno. “Yeah, G. I’m ok.”

“Good. Coach Gonch say I’m stay at your house tonight! We play video games and watch more _Friends.”_

Against his will, Sid grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”

Geno grabbed his gear bag. “Sid best.”

_Yeah. I’m best. Best at being stupid._


	6. Party On!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party's on! Tanger's text said. Sid didn't drink, but he didn't know about Geno.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Underage drinking
> 
> Yes, underage kids drink in high school. Not all of them. Some of them.

Watching _Friends_ and eating junk food on Cheat Day had sounded like such a great idea. 

_Party’s on!_

Geno showed the text to Sid. “Want to go?”

How could Sid say no and look like a baby? He couldn’t say, “I sit in a corner and watch other people have fun.” He couldn’t say, “There are like a million better ways to spend a Saturday night.” He couldn’t say, “I’d rather sit next to you on the bed and watch videos, laugh with you and explain bad television jokes.”

“Sure. Sounds great,” is what Sid said. Disappointment sat in his gut, leaden and dull. Maybe it would be okay. 

~*~

“Geno! I’m glad you came!” Tanger said at the front door. He pressed a beer into Geno’s hand. “Here, man. Sorry. This is all we got.”

Tanger closed the door and ushered them into the house. Somehow, somebody’d gotten beer—probably Horny. He already looks 25 with that beard, Sid thought, rubbing his own face and the straggly hairs he swore were there. Tanger’s family room overflowed with the team—most with girls, some not—drinking and talking. A few guys were probably out back smoking. The TV blared with video games and the sounds of gunshot and explosions. Sid regretted this already.

Tanger didn’t offer Sid a beer, and Sid hadn’t expected one. “Six pack of Coke in the fridge,” he told Sid. Marino walked by with a bag of chips, and Tanger grabbed it from him and handed it to Sid. 

When Marino balked about the chips, Sid stared at the open beer in his hand. “Should you be drinking that?” Marino slunk away, still grumbling about the chips.

Sid turned around to say something to Geno, but he was already gone, absorbed into the crowd.

_This is good,_ Sid thought, ignoring the disappointment he felt. The guys were accepting Geno as one of the team, which is what he’d wanted. He just hoped Geno knew what that meant—especially with Flower and his pranks.

Sid didn’t drink—wouldn’t drink. He had too much at stake. He didn’t need to do something incredibly stupid when he was drunk and wind up going viral, having some college seeing it and yanking a potential scholarship. Or worse. Like potentially outing himself because he failed to be careful. 

When Schultzie got up from the Xbox to go to the bathroom, Sid grabbed the controller from him and slid into his seat, picking up where he’d left off in _Call of Duty._  


It wasn’t long before Sid heard drunken singing—what he assumed was Russian—filtering through the chatter and the video game noise. Geno strutted through the living room like a model on the runway—or like Miss America in a cape and crown. Someone—Sid was guessing Flower from the grin on his face—had draped a red blanket over his shoulders and somehow constructed a crown from beer cans. 

“Hey, everyone. Everyone. Hey, shut the fuck up!” Tanger yelled when no one would listen. “I present Prince Ev—Evj—Geno!”

They helped Geno up onto the coffee table, and he stood tall and wobbly. 

“Geno. How much did you drink?” Sid hissed, trying to pull him down from Mrs. Tanger’s coffee table before he broke it. Or himself. “Coach is gonna kill us.”

Geno tried to pull Sid onto the table. “Be Prince with me. We be princes together.” He held Sid’s hand and wouldn’t let go. 

“We gotta go, Geno. Coach is gonna be pissed. And my mom is gonna be furious.” How had he gotten so drunk in such a short time? “Tanger, help me get him down.”

They wrangled Geno down, but not before he could grab Sidney’s keys. “I’m drive!” 

Fear curdled Sid’s stomach. “Uh, yeah,” he said as he untied the knot in the blanket cape. “But I tell you what. Let me hold the keys so you don’t lose them.”

Sid pried them out of Geno’s grasp even as Geno was grumbling _Not drunk._

Sid steered Geno to the car and poured him in to the front passenger’s seat. “Do you need me to open the window?”

Geno shook his head no, then groaned at the movement. 

“Do. Not. Puke in my mom’s car,” Sid warned. “Let me know, and I’ll stop the car.”

It wasn’t far home, maybe two miles. 

“You good friend, Sid. Best friend.” Geno slapped Sid’s thigh and left his hand there. “Best friend I’m ever have.”

Sid didn’t pay any attention to Geno’s hand, wide and warm on his thigh. Not one bit, and not when it occasionally slid higher up his leg. “How you doing?” his voice cracked on the _how._ “We’re home.”

Geno wrestled with the door handle and was quickly losing. He flopped back against the chair and whispered, “No, Sid. Home so far.” Geno’s voice was a half sob, and Sid rushed around to Geno’s side of the car to let him out in case he was a sad drunk. 

“Sid, you left but you come back.” Geno spilled out of the car and hugged Sid tightly. “Mama and Papa so far. But you here. For me.” 

Geno babbled as Sid led him through the back door of the house. Stuff like Sid was the best friend he’d ever had. How no one in Russia knew. No one understood. He missed his Mama and Papa so much.

Each time he mentioned his parents, Geno’s voice caught until he was crying and trying to hug Sid. Except that Sid was trying to get them through the house and upstairs before Geno woke up his mom, who’d be happy Sid hadn’t been drinking and really, really pissed off that Geno’d had enough to be raging drunk. 

“Shhh, G, c’mon. Just up these stairs,” Sid said, covering Geno’s mouth with his hand. “You gotta be quiet.”

Geno burped behind Sid’s palm, and it smelled like a brewery. Sid had never been so glad he didn’t drink. “Aw, Jesus, Geno. Cut that out. And if you’re gonna puke, tell me.”

He nudged Geno toward the bed. “Take your shoes off and lie down.” Sid slid Geno’s heavy winter jacket off as Geno fought with his shoes. He couldn’t quite get his toes on the heel of the other shoe to pull it off. 

“Stop spin!” Geno barked out. “Make you room stop spin.”

Sid pressed down on Geno’s shoulders, mostly to feel like he was doing something, but also in the hopes it would ground Geno. “C’mon. Lie down.”

Geno held his arms out, like he expected Sid to help take his shirt off, but no way he was gonna help Geno strip. Instead, Sid nudged him toward the mattress.

No sooner had Sid pulled the worn comforter up to Geno’s shoulders, when Geno bolted upright and vomited on the comforter. 

“Aw, fuck, Geno.” What else could he say. “Bathroom! Come on.”

Geno lurched across the room to the bathroom, holding out til he reached the toilet this time. Sid gathered the comforter together carefully and snuck downstairs to the basement to rinse it in the slop sink before tossing it in the washer. Thank God for the extra large washer that mom said was a necessity because of Sid’s sweaty laundry. 

When Sid got back upstairs with a Gatorade and two Tylenol, Geno was curled around the toilet, his forehead pressed to the cold porcelain. “How you doing?” Sid asked, and when Geno looked up, Sid pushed his hair off his forehead. Geno looked terrible, but worse, he looked sad. 

How? How had it been one weekend, and Sid already knew he’d do anything he could never to see Geno look sad again. “Any better? These are for later.” He put the Gatorade and Tylenol on the counter. 

“Good now. Sorry about—” Geno tried to wave his hand toward the bed, but it looked like his hand was made of lead. 

Sid smiled softly. “No worries. It’s already in the wash.”

“I’m not know. Not even know how to wash clothes. Miss Mama so much.” Geno leaned into Sid and wept quietly against his chest. 

“We can call her, ok? Skype her or something.” Sid held him and rubbed his back. When the crying slowed down, Sid urged Geno to stand up and got him back into bed. Sid stepped out of his jeans and crawled in next to Geno. 

If he slept in the bed, it would be easier to know if Geno got sick again, or something. Besides, what could it hurt, just this once.

As if Sid didn’t already know the answer to that.


	7. Let's Be Lonely Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geno has to learn about being part of Sid's household--hungover or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience. The words--they are not cooperating.

Sid woke to the scent of acrid hangover—the lingering scent of vomit mixed with sweat and cheap beer on him exacerbated by how incredibly warm he was. 

But it was December in Pittsburgh, and their house was never warm. 

Geno.

Geno was molded to Sidney, his knees curved where Sid’s curved, his chest snug against Sid’s back. Oh my God, how long had they slept like that, with Geno’s face pressed against Sid’s neck, his hand warm on Sidney’s hip.

It was awful and wonderful. 

And it had to stop. 

Sidney took one more minute to enjoy the fantasy that they were together, that this meant something between them, and tried to ignore the heaviness in his stomach. With a deep breath he edged away from Geno and rolled out of bed to use the bathroom. 

When Sid walked back into the room, Geno had one eye cracked open. “Am dead.”

“Nope,” Sid laughed. “You are absolutely alive. Be glad we don’t have skate this morning. Coach would take one look at you and bag skate you.”

“Why you yell when I’m dead.” In something like slow motion, Geno dragged Sid’s pillow over his face to hide.

“Not yelling,” Sid said, slightly louder and could feel Geno’s entire body wince. He pulled the pillow off Geno’s face and added, “C’mon. Breakfast then laundry and homework.”

Geno pretended he was asleep. 

“I’m giving you til three, then I’m pulling you out of bed. One, two—” Sid reached for Geno’s ankle, but Geno, groaning loudly and not really stable, sat almost upright. 

“Don’t tell Mama,” Geno whispered. “She be disappoint.” He stared at his clasped hands in his lap and when he looked up, his eyes were wet with tears.

“My mom?” Sid asked. “I won’t. I promise.”

It was an easy promise to keep. First, his mom would take one whiff and know Geno was hungover. But second, in the way his heart hurt watching Geno so upset, Sid knew he’d do anything to keep him from being sad ever again.

Sid reached out his hand for Geno. “Shower, clean clothes, then breakfast. You smell like hell.”

Geno wobbled a smile and shuffled slowly to the bathroom, grumbling in Russian. Sid dug in his drawer for that pair of black Penguins sweatpants that dragged on the floor when he wore them, thinking they might be okay on Geno. He added an old Sewickley Country Day School t-shirt and debated giving Geno a pair of his underwear, which seemed nasty, but in the end, not as nasty as G freeballing in his sweats.   
Sid knocked and didn’t wait for an answer before edging open the bathroom door. “Here’s some clean clothes.”

Geno stuck his head out from the shower curtain, his wet hair dripping into his face. He looked tired and his eyes were bloodshot, but he looked better—and almost awake. His smile was small but genuine, and Sid smiled back. 

~*~

Sid’s mom took one look at Geno, clean showered and in fresh clothes but still smelling like last night’s party. She bit her lips and went back to reading the newspaper. 

~*~

After breakfast, Geno tried to crawl back into bed, but Sid stopped him before he could. “Laundry. You have to strip the bed, wash the sheets and your clothes, then remake the bed.”

Sid waited, his arms crossed over his chest. 

Geno stared at Sid. 

“Geno. Strip the bed.” Sid pointed, but Geno just stared. “You know? Take the blankets off, the sheets off—”

Geno didn’t move, and Sid felt his anger rising. “Come on, G. Everyone has stripped a bed before. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m saying.”

Geno barked something back in Russian, lifted the corner of the blanket and dropped it back down.

Sid threw his hands up in frustration and pushed a pillow into Geno’s hands. “Take the pillow out of the pillowcase.” Geno wrestled with it for a moment before extracting the big pillow from the smaller case. 

“Next, the blankets. Then the sheets. Have you really never stripped a bed?”

Geno shrugged. “Mama.”

Sid huffed a _Ha!_ “No way my mom is gonna do this for me. She hasn’t since I was tall enough to work the washing machine.”

They finished pulling the dirty sheets from the mattress, and Sid shoved them and last night’s clothes into Geno’s arms. “Next stop, the washer.”

Turns out, Geno had no idea how to do laundry. _That’s not gonna last long,_ Sid thought. He bullied through Geno’s hangover and unwillingness to learn until Geno had started the washer. 

“If you’re going to live here, you gotta know these things,” Sid said shaking Geno’s shoulder, “I mean, if you want to. I know we don’t speak Russian or make Russian food, and living with Coach Gonch probably makes you feel more at home—”  
“I’m learn,” was all Geno said, but his smile was brilliant and bright for the first time that day, and Sid’s stomach flip flopped. He ignored it (not really) as he showed Geno where they kept the clean sheets and how to make the bed. 

“Did you really never do this at home?”

“Mama,” Geno said with a crafty smile, and Sid just shook his head. 

“Maybe I’ll take a picture of you making the bed and send it to her.” Sid angled the phone toward Geno, elbows deep in fitted sheet. Seconds after the flash exploded, Geno tackled Sid to the bare mattress and wrestled him for control of the phone. 

Sid was pinned under Geno, who was a bit larger and a bit heavier and definitely had longer arms. “I’m look at all your pictures. Maybe you take more of me that I’m get rid of.”

Sid’s face was deep red, from not being able to breathe and _not_ from the idea of taking other pictures of Geno. “Ha! It’s locked.”

Geno sat back on his heels, one knee on either side of Sid’s hips, and Jesus fuck, but he looked so good over Sid, and the pressure on him in exactly the right spot, and it took all of Sid’s fight not to roll his hips, because that would have been a humiliating disaster. 

“Hmm,” Geno over exaggerated pretending to think. “Wonder what you code is.” Sid struggled to grab his phone back, but Geno held it out to the side. He poked in four numbers. “Ha! 8-7-8-7. I’m only know you few days, but already know you love you jersey number.”

Geno angled his torso away as Sid reached for the phone; Sid stilled when Geno’s crotch pressed against Sid’s hard dick. _This was bad, bad, so bad._

Geno laughed evilly at Sid’s phone. “Not me.” Swipe. “Not me.” Swipe. “Not me.” 

“Why not me? Little bit sad.” Geno pouted as Sid grabbed the phone from him. Swipe. When Geno turned back, Sid could see the rigid outline of Geno’s dick in the sweatpants.

_It’s a biological response. That’s it. It doesn’t mean anything._

The thing of it was, Sid was hard, aching and wanting, _because_ it was Geno. Not because of pure biology. He hadn’t felt this way about another person in a long time.

Maybe, just maybe, it was the same for Geno. 

“Asshole. You just got here. When was I gonna take your picture?” Quick as he could, Sid opened the camera app and clicked a picture of Geno. It was bad, with Geno’s eyes half closed and his mouth in a derpy smile.

“Now who asshole?” Geno stole the phone again and squawked. “How you take bad picture of this pretty face?” He dropped onto the bed next to Sid and put their heads together. “Smile!” Geno ordered and snapped a selfie of them. “Good.”

Geno texted the picture to himself and finally returned the phone to Sid. “Is my phone number. Should keep.”  
“We live together, asshole,” Sid grinned. Being with Geno made him stupidly happy, laughing about nothing and feeling like his insides had turned to fizzy bubbles. 

“But what if you take selfie at school, and it suck, and you say, oh no, I’m need Zhenya to take picture because Zhenya best?” He used a ridiculous, high pitched voice for Sid. “You need it.”

“Fuck you,” Sid said shoving Geno away, who pushed him back. “Hey, what did you call yourself.”

“Zhenya. Is little name for family to use. Family, best friends. You say.” Geno made him repeat it, squeezed Sid’s cheeks until he could finally pronounce the _Jsh_ sound at the start of the word. “Good. You can use. Do you have small name?”

Sid thought about it before shaking his head. “No. My mom calls me Sid or Sidney. Taylor calls me Squid, but not the same thing.” 

Geno cackled, and Sid punched his arm. “Don’t even think about it or else.”

Eventually the bed got made, in between wrestling matches. Sid finally left Geno to it and escaped to the bathroom. It would be faster to jack off than try to get his dick to go down. He pulled his pants and underwear down to mid-thigh and leaned his forehead against the wall. He spit into his palm and wrapped his hand around his aching dick. It took one thought about Geno straddling him, grinding against him, one thought about the permission to call him _Zhenya,_ and it was over. 

He waited for his breathing to even out to wash his hands and splash cold water on his face. 

What idiot asked Geno to live with them? Oh yeah. Him. 

~*~

Homework was next. After his paper, Sid had left the rest of his homework til Sunday. He assumed Geno had homework, too, judging by the aggressive way he ignored his backpack. 

“Is just reading. Can do later.”

“If it’s just reading, we’ll do it now.” Sid sat on the bed, his back against the wall with the pillows propped behind him. Geno settled in next to him. It was homework for English as a Second Language class. 

Sid opened his own literature textbook but watched Geno out of the corner of his eye. He was tracing the lines of the story with his finger; he went over the same paragraph three times.

“English is my favorite class,” Sid began slowly, hoping he wouldn’t insult Geno. “Can I help you? I mean, I’d still be sitting in math if it wasn’t for you.”

Geno bit his bottom lip then nodded slowly. “I know what words mean, but they not—in here—” he stabbed the book with his finger, and Sid could feel the tension in Geno, in the set of his jaw and the tight muscles in his arm.

“They don’t make sense when you put them together?” Sid offered.

“Yes! English is stupid.” 

Sid was afraid what Geno was really saying was that _he_ was stupid because he couldn’t understand. “It’s really stupid. There are so many rules, and then the rules don’t apply.”

Sid eased the book over so it laid on both their laps. Geno read aloud, and Sid explained anything he didn’t understand. By the time they finished, Geno was beaming. 

“You best. Best teacher. Best friend ever.” Geno curved his arm around Sid’s neck and pulled him in closer for a headlock hug. 

He smelled like tacos from lunch and Sid’s strawberry shampoo and not much like hangover any more. 

“I’m sure you had tons of friends at home,” Sid said, trying not to be creepy and breathing in Geno, trying not to memorize the scent of him. 

“How is the word—friend but not friend? I’m know them but not feel close.”

“Acquaintance?” 

“Yes. I’m not have friend to tell secrets or help with work.” Geno closed the English book with a slam. “I’m miss Mama and Papa, but I’m like it here. Is more—free.” He let Sid out of the headlock, and Sid missed the warmth of Geno’s chest against his cheek.

“I get that,” Sid said as he sat up, proud that Geno felt that way about him. He wasn’t sure whether to say this, but he decided to trust Geno. “I don’t have a lot of friends. Just Flower and Tanger. Most people think I’m weird, like, too obsessed with hockey and school.”

“They weird for not like you.” 

“Well, people are weird for not liking you!” Sid shoved his books into his backpack so he didn’t do something incredibly wrong like try to touch Geno’s face.

“Maybe we’re the weird ones,” Sid said as he got up to put his bag away.

Geno held Sid’s wrist, and Sid swore he could feel Geno’s pulse, but maybe it was just his, racing at the touch. “Then we be weird. Together.”


	8. Fuck This and Fuck Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today can just go fuck off, okay? At least they have a game tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is only 1/2 a chapter but I thought it was better than nothing. 2 of my kids go to college online. Another 1 has been back since college closed 3/17. And I have 2 high schoolers. And Mr Sun started a new job and is working from his recliner. The house is packed in the best way with happy noise and a lot of homework and online voice lessons. 
> 
> But at the same time, they’re nervous and bored and lonely and come to hang with me. I don’t have a lot of mojo, and what I have, I share with them.
> 
> I’ve only ever abandoned one story (which I pulled down and still have plus all the handwritten notes for the rest); I’m not abandoning this. It’s just—life. It’s kind of an energy drain right now. Ya feel me?

They walked into school Monday morning like they owned every corridor and classroom. Their jerseys announced it was a game day, with Sid’s 87 and Geno’s 71 large across their backs. Classmates and kids Sid barely knew fist-bumped or high-fived them. Popular girls tried to stop them with a cheek kiss for good luck; other kids moved out of their way.

Sid watched Geno from the corner of his eye. At first he seemed shocked by the attention, but by the time they separated for their morning classes, Geno was all broad smiles and back slaps. Sid, on the other hand, hated everything about it. Mostly it felt phony, these people who wanted to be his friend because of his hockey. He wasn’t fooled; he knew that they wouldn’t look twice at him if he were on the Olympics of the Mind team, or just some OCD kid sitting in English class answering too many questions about Walt Whitman. 

He dropped into his seat in Mr. Lemieux’s class and opened his book to Thoreau, waiting for class to begin.

~*~

“Where were you?”

“Guidance. Classes for next year.” Sid nudged his tray onto the overcrowded hockey team lunch table. “She talked so freaking much and made me late. This was all that was left.” He pointed to two undersized slices of pepperoni pizza dripping with grease.

Sid pushed Flower out of the way and tried to sit on the edge of the bench. “C’mon Flower. Move. I can only fit half my butt.”

Flower poked Tanger, who poked Jake, who moved just enough that they could scooch down and create another half-a-butt’s worth of bench.

Sid inhaled the first slice and tossed the crust onto his plate before he noticed Geno wasn’t at the table. “Where’s G?”

“He’s over with the theater kids,” Flower said with a shrug. When Sid turned around to find Geno, Flower snaked his hand and stole the crust. He surreptitiously sniffed the crust before taking a bite. “I don’t know why.”

“Me, either.” Sid ate his second slice, swiping at his greasy chin harder than necessary. He’d assumed Zhenya would want to sit with him—with _them—_ at lunch. The pizza was messing with his stomach, making it churn and burn.

The bell rang, and Sid headed toward the theater table, but Geno was lost in the exodus, kids trying to get to their next class without being tardy. 

Sid made it into his seat at the back of French class just before Monsieur Dupuis shut the door. “Welcome back! Clear your desks except for a pen, please. Pop quiz,” he said in rapid French.

Sid—who was barely conversant in French—got the context from everyone putting their books away. _Fuck. Me. And fuck today._

As quizzes went, it was alright. Fill in the blank vocabulary. Could’ve been a lot worse. He probably hadn’t failed. Sid turned in his quiz, then slid his phone out of his pocket and into his lap to text Geno.

_How come you didn’t sit with the team at lunch?_

“Monsieur Crosby, is something in your lap fascinating?” Monsieur Dupuis asked from the front of the classroom. The class laughed awkwardly.

Today could just go fuck off. Twice.

“No, sir.” Sid dropped his phone into his backpack, his face burning.

“Because if it’s your phone, I could relieve you of it…”

“No, sir. There’s nothing.”

Sid could hear it buzz in his backpack, but it wasn’t worth trying to sneak a look. Monsieur Dupuis would absolutely take his phone, maybe call Sid’s mom to tell her what had happened, and there was a real possibility he’d read through the texts out loud.

**Author's Note:**

> Stevie Nicks was part of the iconic 70s/80s band Fleetwood Mac. This solo song has been one of my favorite since it was first released. It's called [Edge of Seventeen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dn8-4tjPxD8)


End file.
